Songbird
by Eden Lies
Summary: Sebastian has a pretty little songbird that he keeps locked in a gilded cage. The songbird peers between the bars, longing to see the world beyond his reach. SebastianxCiel.
1. Bars and Windows

Hello guys, another SebastianxCiel fic comin' your way xD. I've been working on a CielxAberline one, and I decided to take a bit of a break...thus, this fic was born. It is heavily inspired by the lovely Doctor Faustus's fic, Forbidden Future, which was apparently in turn inspired by some other works ^_^. This fic is also going to be made up of at least two parts, so do not fear, it isn't complete yet!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, absolutely nothing!

Warnings: Rated M, contains shounenai/yaoi, unbeta-d.

And here we go...

* * *

**Songbird**

**Part l: Bars and Windows  
**

**

* * *

**He has a pretty little songbird that he keeps locked in a gilded cage.

* * *

Years upon years have passed since the near destruction of London. The streets have changed, the people have changed, and time has changed. No longer is it the era of horse-drawn carriages, boned corsets, and high tea; fashionable automobiles have begun to dominate the city's streets.

But Ciel doesn't know that.

He sits upright on his dusty apholstered chair, sips tea made from china cups, and checks the time on his brass pocketwatch. Sometimes, every once in awhile, he'll move. And when he does, he somehow feels as if he's shaking layers and layers of dust off of his skin.

Sebastian never allows his master out of the mansion. But the butler is considerate. He knows that like most humans, Ciel was not made to live without physical contact. To keep his pretty pet content with living in his beautiful mansion, the boy needs conversation, affection, and reassurance.

And so Sebastian can do nothing but to oblige.

"I love you, young master."

"I am all you need."

But even with Sebastian's lavish affections, Ciel Phantomhive feels as if something is not quite right.

* * *

The songbird's cage is shrinking now- ever suffocating, ever pressuring.

* * *

"Sebastian, get out of the way. That's an order."

Sebastian is firmly planted in front of the mansion's main door, his back on the fine mahogany wood, his body facing the young earl.

"I am sorry, young master, that is something I cannot do."

The boy is furious.

"But why? Are you hiding something from me, Sebastian?"

"Young master, I have already told you multiple times. I have never, and will never, lie to you."

Sebastian's words pierce through the boy like a knife, and somehow he knows that his butler is telling him the truth.

Quietly, silently, with his anger still boiling over, Ciel backs out of the room, giving up for the day. He'll find out why...he'll get where he wants to go.

But for now, he returns to haunting the halls of the house like a ghost and sitting on his apholstered chairs like a dusty porcelain doll.

* * *

The gold on the cage's bars are fading now. Is that silver?

* * *

The moon glows a silver-white as the demon opens the doors of his master's bedroom. Shadows jump and flit across the walls and across the floors. _It's like a puppet show_, Sebastian thinks briefly, _with the moon as its master_. It's an ever-changing puppet show, he knows. It needs to change to keep it's audiences entertained. He shuffles closer to Ciel's bedside and lights a fine beeswax candle.

The boy wakes up.

In the glow of the candlelight, Ciel can just barely make out the form of his pretty demon butler. _The shadows are clinging to him_, the boy thinks, and immediately he feels silly.

He makes sure to keep his breathing even, keep his eyes closed, and pretend that he is asleep. It wouldn't do for Sebastian to know that he is awake, after all. This is how things always are between them. Movements in the darkness, half-awake and half-asleep, almost as if they were simply shadows themselves. _Like a little dream-world_, Ciel thinks.

The shadows shift once more as the moonlight intensifies and the candle is placed on Ciel's bedstand. The mattress dips as the butler sits down. The earl feels spider-like hands brushing past his face, his neck, his chest. And even though he's supposed to be asleep, he can't contain himself when Sebastian brushes his nipple and oh, nnnngh....ah!

* * *

The songbird opens his mouth to sing.

* * *

Ciel lets a moan escape past his pretty red lips. "Aahn, S-Sebastian!" He cries, legs spread open, sweat sticking to his skin, ass filled to the brim with Sebastian's cock. In and out they go, in and out, in, out. The boy can't help but to cry out every time his butler hits that certain spot within him. It's good, it's much too good. _In, out, in, out_. Almost like it isn't real. _In, out, in, out_.

As the minutes pass, the silence is rhythmically punctured by the sound of skin slapping against skin, and by Ciel's moans and cries. _Such a pretty voice_, Sebastian thinks, _he is definitely cut out to be a singer_. Ciel gives a particularly loud cry when Sebastian begins to lick at his nipples, never pausing in his thrusting. _Yes_, the butler finalizes, _he is just like a weak, unrecognized singer. He may have the most beautiful voice in the world, he may sound like angels from the heavens above, but until he tickles an important individual's fancy, he will remain unnoticed. _

Sebastian is picking up the pace now, thrusting harder, thrusting faster. In and out and in and out and harder, faster, harder! The music begins to pick up speed. The moans are louder, sharper, and quicker. Ciel's voice is thicker, more wrought with emotion. Almost as if he's about to reach a crescendo...

* * *

The song stops.

* * *

The earl lies alone in his bed, cold, alone, and disoriented. The space on the bed that his butler had just occupied is covered in shadows. The moonlight streaming in from the window has begun to fade.

_So this is what reality is like_, he thinks to himself.

* * *

The songbird peers between the bars, longs to see the world beyond his cage.

* * *

Ciel Phantomhive is in the mansion's library. He's doing something that, years ago, he would have scoffed at and dismissed as beneath him. He's flipping through picture books. He really has no interest in the fanciful stories themselves, it's just...every once in awhile, he can find illustrations of cities, of towns and of people. Of the world he longs to visit and belong to. Of a world he will never see.

He had tried, once, to see what lay beyond his mansion's grounds. He had set up a telescope by his bedroom window, and just as he was about to glance through it, he had felt two gloved hands cover his eyes. And though he had protested, attempted to pull the demon away from him, the demon did not let go. And needless to say, the next time Ciel had tried to use the telescope, he noticed that its lense was irreparably smashed and distorted.

And so he's resorted now to picture books. Though they are just fairytales, they _are_ windows into another world, he concedes. They may not be exact windows to the world outside of his mansion, they may not be as clear and polished as his bedroom window, but they are windows nonetheless. And these other worlds...

Sometimes Ciel wonders what it would be like if he lived in another universe.

* * *

The bars are neither gold, nor silver. They are only iron.

* * *

_Drink up baby, look at the stars._

_I'll kiss you again, between the bars._

_~Elliott Smith_

_

* * *

_phew, and there's the end of part one. The very last section, as stated, are lyrics by the wonderful Elliott Smith, whom I recommend for everyone to listen to :D. Drop reviews/critique/comments, please, it never hurts to do so!


	2. Carousel

Here we go, guys, part 2 is now up and running. Sorry for the wait, real life just kind of got in the way :P.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, and most of this story was inspired by the lovely fic "Forbidden Future".

Warnings: Yaoi (though nothing graphic in this chapter), angst, un-beta'dness, and general confusion.

* * *

**Songbird**

**Part ll: Carousel  
**

**

* * *

**Little songbird dreams of carousels and of the past.

* * *

Asleep amongst the books and ancient wooden shelves, Ciel Phantomhive dreams of a better time, a far-away time. He sees the French Revolution, the American Revolution, and the revolutions of a painted carousel going round, round, and round. The carousel's central structure is covered from end to end with thousands of different picture frames. Within the frames he catches glimpses of his past. He can see a crisply cut garden, Bard trying to make dinner, and Maylene dropping a china plate. He remembers a violin lesson, attending an evening party, and the scent of Indian spice. He sees hundreds of insignificant, long lost moments that would never again come to be. Moments he'd taken for granted, and he now wish he had appreciated more.

All of a sudden, within the confines of a small picture frame he catches a glimpse of blue eyes and curling blond hair. He heart twists painfully in his chest when he realizes that it must be, has to be, a portait of his parents. Ciel reaches out for it, but he knows he'll never touch it and it's revolved to the opposite side of the carousel and it should be coming back now and-

* * *

The songbird realizes that there is no use in reaching out for a comforting hand.

* * *

Ciel Phantomhive realizes that there is no use in reaching out for the portrait. His parents are long dead. Touching a memory of what they used to be is too dangerous, he decides. That's why he's locked away his memories in dusty attics. But he somehow, he finds he cannot tear himself away from the big painted carousel. Maybe it's because he hopes to find something, see something, to discover something he has long since forgotten. He feels a chill run through his body.

There is something he knows he _needs_ to recall...

And on the carousel, there is one blank picture frame.

* * *

His cage's iron bars grow uglier by the day.

* * *

His mansion's décor has never before seemed ugly to him. But now, he is having second thoughts.

The plush Persian rugs, the cream-colored walls, and sleek, lacquered wood- he hates it all. He hates that he has to see the walls, walk on the rugs, and touch the pretty wooden surfaces with his dainty hands. He absolutely _hates_ it.

He hates the décor because it was his butler that chose it. It stands as a testament to the fact that he is completely and utterly powerless. Even aesthetic decisions are not up to him, it seems. Nothing is up to him.

* * *

The songbird wonders where his old mate has gone.

* * *

Come to think of it, he has not heard from Elizabeth in ages. Has it been years yet? Ciel doesn't know what to make of it. She would have normally contacted him by now, definitely. She used to visit at least every week. Why has she not come? The boy blinks. It's quite unlike him to freely think of his annoying fiancée, much less actually worry about her. But these days, he decides, he is never like himself.

Since when has he allowed Sebastian to take charge? Since when has he been his butler's subordinate? Since when was he the one imprisoned? Since when has he read magazines or picturebooks, or allowed himself to dream?

The Earl decides that change is in order.

* * *

Little songbird tries to escape.

* * *

The mansion is quiet and entrenched in darkness. No moonlight seeps in through the windows, and even the wind and the weather is relatively calm. The silence has become so thick it is practically material.

Two beings lie in different rooms. One is breathing heavily and erratically, attempting to wrestle with ideas of accomplishing something forbidden. The other is not breathing at all.

The material silence is broken by a sudden procession of noise: shifting sheets, footsteps reverberating against floorboards, a door opening and closing. The footsteps grow faster, but never do they grow louder.

Ciel Phantomhive is conscious of his footsteps and his wildly beating heart as he makes his way down winding staircases and across empty halls. Tonight might be his only chance. Tonight might be his only chance. He has been planning this escape for weeks.

He has taken all of the necessary precautions. He has watched his attitude around his demon, made sure to be kind and polite and obedient. He has not tried to open the main doors during the day. He has tried to enjoy and act favorably towards the sex.

The Earl knows that there is only one way to succeed.

_Sebastian needs to be sleeping_.

He had wondered, once upon a time, if demons even slept. After various nights spent naked by his servant's side, he has come to the conclusion that they do sleep, every once in awhile.

Ciel hopes that one of those _'once in awhiles' _is tonight.

He has stealthily descended the last flight of stairs, and he finds himself in the entry hall. His heart swells with hope. The enormous double doors that will lead to his freedom are only a hundred feet away. He's happy beyond belief and he lets warm memories and relief flood his veins, and he's quickly getting closer, and he's only a few feet away now, and one more step and he will be fr-

He's harshly grabbed from behind and is shoved up against the closed doors.

"Now now, young master," taunts his butler's voice, " Whatever were you doing?"

There is a sudden powerful movement, a sudden crack, and the Earl's sudden cry of pain.

Minutes stretch on and the silence becomes material once more.

* * *

Because his wings have been clipped and his beak has been bound shut, little songbird listens.

* * *

"Do you know why I insist on keeping you here? It's because I love you and I only want the best for you. Now, come on, don't look at me like that. I really do love you. I know what's best. The world outside of your lovely mansion is a wreck. It is not suitable for a person of a mentality and stature such as yourself, my lord. Maybe, if you're not exposed to such ugliness, I can keep you perfect forever.

Of course, as a demon, I do have my own selfish reasons for keeping you here. What? No, it's because...

It's because if you were not bound to my side due to our contract, would you run? Would you distance yourself from me? Would I become completely insignificant?

To tell you the truth, the real reason why I force you to remain here is that, should you wander outside, you would realize-

* * *

**The contract has already been broken.**

**

* * *

**Ciel wonders why, up until now, he had never noticed that the seal over his eye was long gone. He wonders why he never looked at Sebastian's bare hands, he wonders why he never noticed.

He wonders why he never noticed.

* * *

When the songbird next dreams, he finds himself once more by the carousel of his memories.

The blank picture frame has been filled.

He stares at the image of a boy sitting on a stone bench, engulfed by the shadow of a demon stealing his life away.

* * *

And that's the end of part 2. I still have not personally decided whether or not to leave this as the end, so some input on that would be much appreciated :). Comments? Critiques? Please drop a review and tell me~

Eden


	3. Beneath the Floorboards

Ok, everyone, this is the last part of this story. This story is now complete. This part is shorter than both of the other ones, but I think it works how it is.

Warnings: Unbeta'd, yaoi/slash/shounenai (but nothing big in this part, this warning is mostly for part l), confusion, and the lovely angst we all love to pile on.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, nor the quotes from songs by Sufjan Stevens, and MIKA, respectively.

Here we go~

* * *

**Songbird**

**Part lll: Beneath the Floorboards**

**

* * *

**"_Look beneath the floorboards_

_For the secrets I have hid."_

_John Wayne Gacy, Jr., as sung by Sufjan Stevens_

_

* * *

_**Little songbird is free.**

**

* * *

**The mansion is empty.

* * *

Sebastian Michaelis keeps all of his secrets locked in the mansion's attic, beneath the floorboards, covered in dust and paint and ash. He should feel secure, he thinks, but it is not the case.

He knows that sometimes, even locks aren't enough.

* * *

The demon tries to ignore it, he really does. But it isn't his fault that every little thing in the world is all too reminiscent of his past. He flinches every time he sees sapphires, and he can never look at London Bridge without imagining a small boy plunging into the depths of the Thames River below it. He can never watch puppet shows again, and moonlight pouring in from windows only makes him sick.

Every once in awhile, when that sick feeling builds to the point that it becomes unbearable, Sebastian acquiesces to the sliver of himself that wants to hold on to the past. He hates it, he knows it is a weakness, but sometimes, he just can't help himself.

And those are the instances in which he returns to the mansion. He tells himself it's because he's checking the locks. But really, deep down inside, he knows he is only hoping to loosen them.

* * *

It's Christmas day.

Sebastian doesn't allow himself to think.

* * *

He roams London's filthy, crowded streets. He searches for souls to prey upon, for darkness in humans that he can exploit. He is jostled harshly from his left by a woman in a hospital uniform, but he continues on down the street, unperturbed. He hears a little boy squeal with delight, and sees a group of men shoving their way into the crowd, attempting to sell their wares. Automobiles buzz by on the narrow streets, in many instances just barely avoiding pedestrians.

Sebastian pauses when a bitterly ironic feeling settles over him.

Even amidst the crush of human bodies surrounding him, during the high point of a bustling London day, he has never before felt so alone.

* * *

The sick, bitter feeling is eating him alive.

He decides it is about time to give in again.

* * *

Sebastian stands amidst a flurry of crisp, cold snow; a spot of black in the overwhelming brightness of the winter landscape. He stands at the front gate of the mansion, feeling the eerie calm emanating from the empty (usually bustling) city behind him.

He allows himself to push the gate open.

He is hyper-aware of each step he takes into the crunching snow.

Step.

_Faustian contracts in amethyst purple._

Step.

_Revival. Stability._

Step.

_Letters from Queen Victoria. _

Step.

_An evening party at Viscount Druitt's mansion, and a violin lesson. _

Step.

_A marble statue crumbling into dust. _

Step.

_His young master's beautiful sapphire eyes. _

Step.

_The loss of a soul._

Step.

_The creation of a songbird._

Step.

* * *

**Little songbird is free, for...**

**

* * *

**He cautiously dusts off the longest panel of boarding on the attic's floor. His hand trembles, but the demon tells himself it's because of the cold. He pulls the board up slowly, ever...so...slowly.

The demon allows himself to kneel, to collapse onto his knees in some sort of twisted mock prayer. _Say a few words for your beloved_, a dark corner of his mind sarcastically remarks.

And he almost does.

Almost.

But he is not quite that far gone yet.

Staring up at him with closed eyes, from beneath a panel of glass, is the face of his dear young master. A young, perfect face, almost like that of a porcelain doll. The demon touches the transparent glass, but does not allow himself to go any further. He may be able to see his past clearly (through glass cases), but never again will he truly make contact with it.

Sebastian's unbeating heart wrenches painfully in his chest. He wonders how he could ever have allowed himself to make such a fatal mistake. He never should have become so attached...

* * *

**Little songbird is free, for he has been slain.**

**

* * *

**Sometimes Sebastian wonders what it would be like if he lived in another universe.

* * *

"_Take a bow, play the part _

_Of a lonely, lonely heart_

_Say goodbye,_

_To the world you thought you lived in."_

_Any Other World, as sung by MIKA._

_

* * *

__The light in August is fading but lovely; it illuminates the thick fields in a way he never would have imagined possible. The sunlight glints against his tailcoat's brass buttons, and never has the demon felt more at peace. At the sound of ice clinking against glass, Sebastian turns to face Ciel, who is lounging on a picnic blanket, sipping his iced tea. The boy is quiet for a few moments as he takes in the golden fields that stretch as far as the eye can see. _

_ "There aren't many days like this," Ciel says, looking out into the distance, and the butler has to agree._

_

* * *

_**Fin.**

**

* * *

**

Just wanted to pop in again and give a HUGE thank you to my lovely reviewers :), it really does mean a lot to me. If there is any confusion over plot points and 'what the hell happened?!', and such, just message me ^0^.


End file.
